Checkmate
by Belliadonna
Summary: <html><head></head>There is nothing more beautiful than the brutality of chess. Each tactician is given sixteen pieces to work with: a king, whom you must protect at all cost and fifteen pawns of varying power. In chess, there was no sentimentality, no attachment of any sort. It was conquer or be conquered. RATED M FOR A REASON.</html>
1. The Sword or the Knee

Walhart is such a fascinating character for me. Like he seems so brash and hard-hearted, but in his interactions with the female avatar, IF they were married, he is quite the opposite. Anyways, the story below is rather HIGH T to LOW M. WILL GET UP TO M IN A FEW CHAPTERS.

Warnings: Sex, non-con, possible torture (not sure on this one yet) and maybe a severe case of Stockholm's. Maybe.

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><p><strong><em>A Conqueror's role is to dominate, after all!<em>**

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><p>Walhart was a conqueror. It was who he was, down to the very last drop of crimson blood in his body. Rosanne had crumbled within his mighty fist. Chon'sin and Valm were at his mercy, and it would not be long until Ylisse and Ferox followed suit, kneeling before him as obedient slaves should.<p>

At least, that was the original plan.

It would seem that there was a small kink in his plans, a tiny little thorn that had caused a small tear in the conqueror's seamless plans. A small tear— with her silver hair and her agile mind—that might potentially unravel the entire fabric of his quest, a small tear that he needed to remedy as quickly as possible.

That was exactly what he did.

Walhart placed a knight before Excellus's pawn.

"Excellus, know you why I adore the game of chess?" Walhart said. He watched as his opponent advanced his queen from behind its barrier of rooks and devoured one of his pawns.

"Because it is an enthralling game of wits, sire?" Excellus answered. Walhart grinned slyly as he lifted his bishop and slid it across the chess board, taking Excellus's queen.

"Correct, general. There is nothing more beautiful than the brutality of chess. Each tactician is given sixteen pieces to work with: a king, whom you must protect at all cost and fifteen pawns of varying power. In chess, there is no sentimentality, no attachment of any sort. It is conquer or be conquered, and I believe we've reached a checkmate with the Ylisseans. Checkmate, general."

It was Excellus's turn to smirk, not because of the checkmate (which he knew was inevitable, tactician he might be, but in a game of chess, he was useless against his lord), but because it was he who has captured the enemy's Queen in this chess game of a war.

"Well played, my lord. How do you think the Ylisseans are faring? I bet they are in a tizzy of a panic right about now." Excellus giggled, positively tickled that the damned Ylisseans were suffering, especially since one of his strongest pawns, Yen' Fay, have been defeated by them. "Their resistance in The Demon's Ingle was impressive. However, they couldn't have expected us to pour all of our troops into that one place, as to your suggestion, milord. With the right amount of force and tactics, sire, the world is your oyster."

Walhart, however, was not listening to the tactician. He instead was admiring his opponent's queen, a piece carved out of the tusk of a Plegian elephant, a beautiful, pure white colour.

"Excellus, do you know how difficult it is to win chess without a queen? The queen is the most powerful piece in the game, and most players weep the loss of that particular piece, because in the end, strategy will only win you so many battles. The rest are claimed by force." Walhart emphasised his point by taking Excellus's king and toppling it over with a flick of his hand.

"It's not that they had much of a chance from the beginning. Yen Fay was a small loss for us. They, however, have lost their queen, and that makes them as good as defeated."

Walhart stood up from his seat and nodded his head, his version of bidding his general farewell, but not before taking the opponent's queen piece.

"I am off to see the queen."

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><p>Valm has dungeons to throw prisoners in, which were mostly empty even though Walhart's conquest was met with such resistance. Walhart's philosophy was sheer force, and in order to remove the threat of a possible revolution under his rule, he killed anyone in his way. It was as simple as that. Swear allegiance to him alone and live or disobey and die. This was where the filth not worthy of death was thrown. Thieves, liars and two-faced idiots—they deserve to rot in the dungeons of Valm, forgotten.<p>

The queen, obviously, deserved more than such lodgings.

From the stairway of the west side of his castle, he could already hear her, her voice clear with conviction and anger, threatening to send hell hounds to the guards outside, who were beside themselves with laughter.

How disrespectful.

When the soldiers caught sight of their emperor, they straightened and saluted him. Walhart gave a grunt of disapproval as he passed them. He heard them gulp audibly as he turned the doorknob and opened the ornate doors. Damned craven idiots.

The room was one of the finest in the castle, decorated by his ancestors long ago for the queen bride of the Valmese king. The bed was carved from expensive red Nabatian wood, imported from the continent of Magvel, and embroidered with rubies and gold. The walls were covered with purple paint and trimmed with gold, and the portraits of one of the ladies that had once occupied the chamber hung above an ivory table topped with a crystal vase of roses. It was a very fitting room for royalty, especially one as beautiful as the Ylissean queen.

Rumour had it that she was found sleeping in a field by the Ylissean king, confused. She then became one of the most successful and famed tactician in the entire world by leading Chrom and his troops against the Plegians, who sought and had a short war with them. All the while she fell in love with the brash king, and after the war, they had married and she thus became the queen of all Ylisse. However, what history forgot was her beauty. Her beautiful silver hair, her porcelain grace, her alabaster skin—she was beautiful, much more beautiful than any woman. There was no question why the Ylissean king fell hard for her. Her beauty was almost divine, like she was some sort of gift from the gods themselves. Beauty, however, was skin deep. It unleashed desire in any man, sure. Walhart, however, was after her calculating mind. Her intelligence was intoxicating and aroused such want in him, to conquer something so desirable and so unobtainable that it made his blood boil hot with greedy need.

"Walhart, I demand an explanation for this!" Her voice rang. She was dressed in a white chiffon dress, with a few layers of muslin around her waist. Her silvery hair was high in a bun and decorated with seasonal flowers, which made Walhart click his tongue in distaste—he specifically asked that they leave her hair down. Those feather-brained chambermaids couldn't even get a simple request right.

He'd have to punish them later. Right now, he was salivating with desire.

"Dear tactician, I welcome you to my abode. I trust that you were…transported here well?" Walhart spoke as he approached her, eyeing the girl like a hungry man would a piece of fruit.

"If you mean handled like a piece of meat, then yes. Yes, I was." She retorted, amaranthine eyes burning in anger. Ah, those eyes of hers spoke such an aggressive sensual language, incandescent with rage, glowing with passion.

"Now, answer me, Walhart. Answer my question."

With a smirk, he replied.

"My dear, I don't think you understand. You are not in a position where you can be making demands. However, I will answer if you riddle me this. If you remove one of the legs of a chair, does it topple over?" Walhart said simply as he began to walk towards her. She, almost instinctively, went into a battle stance.

"Nothing. There are still three legs left to carry it." She shot back, distaste heavy on her tongue. Walhart fought to resist the shiver that was slowly crawling up his spine.

"What about if you removed two of the back legs?"

"It would obviously fall." She rolled her eyes.

In a second, he had crossed the vast expanse of the carpeted floor between them and was standing right before her, towering over her tiny form. She did not have enough time to put up any sort of fight.

"You, my darling Robin, are one of those legs. Emmeryn was the other. With both of you gone, Ylisse is destined to fall." Walhart could smell her. She reeked of sweet anger and the metallic perfume of blood.

"You are not taking Chrom and the Shepherds into account. They are more than capable of taking care of themselves." She asserted, refusing to be stared down by the giant beefy man before her.

"Ah, Chrom… the little mutt, clutching on to his crown desperately. See now what his ideals have won him? He has lost the two women he loved the most." Walhart spat out and was delighted to see his spitfire of a tactician bristle with fury.

"Do not talk of the king that way, you snake! He is much more deserving of his crown than you ever will!"

"He knows nothing of being a king. He's just some entitled mercenary with grandiose delusions of power. He does not, my dear, know what true power is. Why, I'll bet he's contemplating surrender right now. Utterly overcome with the loss of his precious little flower…"

"Some flowers have thorns, Walhart. Give me reason and I will pierce you through." She threatened him, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. Arousal was inevitable.

"Though, I admit." He said as he tried to cradle her face, with which she replied with a swift turn of the cheek away from his touch. "I would consider giving up for a creature like yourself. If only for a moment." He drawled, whispering into her ear. She pulled back, repulsed and disgusted.

"Don't you dare talk down to me." She growled dangerously.

"As if you're not used to it, my dear. I'll bet you were even forbidden from entering this war by your darling husband."

"…he did it for my safety."

"They don't see you for who you are. None of them do." Walhart cooed into her ear again, and she stood firm, unwilling to give way, unwilling to let him threaten or scare her.

"You are a fighter, my dear. A warrior. You need not hide behind cheap tricks to win. You have power, and lots of it. Your strength speaks for itself. A fighter to the very end."

"If it's a fight you want, then I am more than willing to give you a challenge.

"A challenge? Hah! Don't make me laugh, tactician. Tell me, what is your strategy now?" Walhart couldn't help but laugh at how pathetic the esteemed tactician was. There she was, trapped like a little mouse in the house of her enemy of war, awaiting HIS judgement for HER fate. Delicious.

"I might even end this war now!" She suddenly shouted and charged into the conqueror, who had not so much as blinked at her. She brandished a dagger, hidden under her silks and had firmly planted it on his right shoulder. She smirked.

Walhart returned her smirk with a scowl. Indeed, the beast of a man hadn't so much as flinched.

"Are you quite finished, dear? Such outbursts do not befit a queen." The beefy man sneered at the girl's pathetic attempt on killing him. What result was she expecting? She could barely reach his chest.

"H-how..?! What…? Why!? It should have hit one of your major arte—"

"My dear, you do not conquer nations while succumbing to a single flesh wound." The man suddenly grinned wickedly, a thought having crossed his mind. "But while we're acting on impulses... Let's see how you handle this."

Walhart pulled the bloody dagger from his shoulder, and jammed it down Robin's back, tearing her robes cleanly in two. Reduced to her smallclothes, Robin could only gape in utter shock as the behemoth of a man pushed her to the other side of the room, bending her over the foot of the ornate bed. She could feel him leaning into her, his massive frame crushing her, forcing all oxygen to rush out of her lungs. His body was hot. He was heavy and he was rough. Her waist was pinned down by his, the heavy armour, crushing, grinding her into the bed.

"What now, my queen?" Walhart whispered mockingly as he pulled her head up by her hair, the silver strands strained and taut with the weight of her head. He then placed a hand around her tiny neck and tightened its grip, preventing her from breathing. "What will you do now, little tactician?"

Her breathing restricted, the world becomes cloudy around her. Her vision began to swim and she felt an unfamiliar weightlessness as she slowly started to black out. Just before the darkness came for her, she was released from the vice-like grip around her neck. She clenched the bed before her, greedily gulping in massive amounts of air into her sorely aching lungs. Oh, how the world spun.

Walhart muttered something she could not hear, and she was left, gasping and panting alone on the large bed.

On the mantle above the smouldering fireplace, a lone queen piece stood.


	2. Incursion

_Honestly not too happy with this. Difficult to get out. Props to my Chrom for giving me the needed boosts and RPs for this chapter. Hopefully after this, it's smooth sailing. Action scenes are not my thing. _

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><p>"It's clearly a provocation—a hot brand to the buttocks!"<p>

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><p>The camp was still for once. Frederick could hear the silent rustle of the foliage above them, mottled pretty with sunset colours. He could hear the silence, the sun high in the sky, shining and sending its beautiful warm rays towards the freezing ground below, the sweet crunching of the dead leaves underfoot. It was beautiful.<p>

Too bad he was too distraught over what he _**couldn't hear**_.

Everyone was sitting quietly around the fire, mending, licking the wounds of the earlier skirmish. Lissa gripped her staff tightly as she mended a light gash above Sully's shoulder, the red-head's face in an eternal, irritated scowl, her husband Virion sharing the sentiment, albeit a bit more subtly, on his uncharacteristically stoic face.

"I'm going to murder him." Sully muttered darkly, her grip on her sword shaking with fury. "I'm going to kill him so dead."

"Don't bother. Chrom has already marked him. The pleasure of killing that bastard is reserved solely for my brother's selfish hands." Lissa muttered darkly, with the exact intensity on her voice as Sully's..

"Poor Captain…" Sumia whispered, voice quivering. "How could Walhart be so cruel to him…"

"Sumia, you soft-hearted fool! Tharja suddenly yelled, her presence downcast and shadowed by the trees over her head, but the heated anger in her eyes were evident. "Who gives a flying wyvern about Chrom?! He is here, safe and **WITH US**, and not in the hands of someone who has too many loose screws jangling about in his head. Who knows what my Robin is going through right now?! She could very well be dead." Tharja snarled, angrily—partly because of Sumia, but mostly because of the dark thoughts about the beloved tactician that swirled in the sorceress's head.

At the mere mention of Robin being dead, everyone's overworked balloon of suppressed emotions popped. All at once, they began to yell, to howl and to cry, as in Sumia's case. Not even Frederick the ever-calming force in the Ylissean army was able to hold back a string of curses. Only Chrom, who through it all did not utter a single word, was strangely bereft of emotion. For someone known for his brash passion, this was as strange as it gets and it set his Shepherds off more than any scream or swear ever could.

Not that they blamed him for being so quiet. He was probably shell-shocked that his wife, the military genius that she was, had been captured. Not only that, she was also the ruling partner of the Ylissean king, making her technically royalty by bond. She was the queen of Ylisse and everyone, Chrom included, never thought that she could be used as a liability against them, at least not as a prisoner of war. In wars, a captive is a bargaining tool. Depending on how important the captive is, the more inclined the opposition was to obey the captors, and with the title of being the King's consort, as well as a famed tactical expert in terms of war, Robin was a very valuable bargaining chip for Walhart. So powerful, in fact, that if it comes down to it, Chrom would surely surrender Ylisse for her.

That night at the Demon's Ingle had progressed well, at least until Say'ri broke formation and charged towards her brother, flying through the hot night air with the wings of confusion and anger propelling her. Everyone had their eyes on their designated enemies, and only Robin had noticed Say'ri's disappearance. Following the swordmistress, she was suddenly confronted by a horde of Risen, crawling out of the magma, forcing her into a collapsing rock bridge, successfully isolating her on a lone islet surrounded by liquid fire. Her comrades noticed too late. She was surrounded by at least thirty molten Risens. She tried to hold off until the flying units came for her, but to no avail. The Shepherds could only look on in horror as Excellus appeared behind her, a Thunder tome in hand.

"Robin! Look out!" Chrom screamed all too late, his heart beating loudly against his ears; his wife, in mortal danger.

Amidst the confusion, she did not notice the bastard behind her until he grabbed her by the neck and proceeded to electrocute the tactician. His maniacal laughter increased in volume and mirth as Robin twitched wildly in place, eyes opened wide as she produced a blood curdling scream. The sadistic sage laughed merrily and did not stop until her eyes rolled back and she collapsed into a heap at his feet.

"Kyahaha! Foolish child, look what you have done!" Say'ri forced herself to tear her gaze away from her brother's bleeding form, cradled in her arms, his head lowered as if shamed, his eyes drooping dangerously. Death was imminent for him. They may have been foes, but to her, he was still family. He was still her big brother.

"Wow, what a day! Such a lovely haul for little ol' me!" He grinned as he held the unconscious figure of the Shepherds' tactician, her clothes frayed and charred, still slightly crackling with energy.

"No…what have I done?" Say'ri, with tears in her eyes, whispered, her grief etched into every word that came out of her trembling mouth.

"And Yen'Fay, how long will you still be breathing? Do you feel deep pride swelling in your chest as your very own beloved sister, the one you have risked _**so much**_ to protect, cut you down?" Yen'Fey did not reply, and by the look of his clouded eyes, he will never utter another word ever again.

"Y-you! You loathsome toad! I will cut you!" Say'ri screamed, her bottled up emotions exploding at the bitter realisation that she has, indeed, compromised Robin by letting her heart rule over her mind. This was war, and emotions have no real place within it, yet now, as she screamed at the top of her lungs, she knew that she was letting her emotions get a hold of her again.

"Shut up, you wretch. I could have broken your pretty little neck if I wanted to!" Excellus snapped, face contorting in repulse. "Before you met these Ylisseans, I could have had your head with a word. In Chon'sin, at Valm Harbor...Did you really think yourself so elusive? You were my leverage for Yen'fay. Unwitting and unbound, but a hostage all the same. I let you live; he fought for us. That was our deal. And he kept his end, right TO his end! Hah! What a death! What a martyr he was, and all for the same little sister that killed him! Bwaha!"

"Y-you lie!" The Chon'sin Princess could only whisper in horror, her grip around her brother beginning to shake wildly.

"Oh, did Yen'fay not groan out the truth as you slayed him? No, I suppose not. He always was so quiet. And proud...honourable, I think they call it? Yet he swallowed his pride and cast aside his honour...all to protect his beloved kin. That's right, Little Sis. He did it...to save you." Excellius lapped up the look of despair on the princess's face. It was beautifully priceless.

"And you, Chrom, for shame! The most valuable piece in your army, taken by the enemy! Have you always been so careless?" Excellus grinned malevolently, touching her pale skin to provoke the Ylissean king, successfully eliciting a roar of anger from her husband.

"Is she not beautiful? I've always wanted to have such a pretty porcelain doll to play with. Kekekeh!"

It took Frederick, Cordelia and Kellam's combined strength to restrain the prince, struggling and crying against the hold of his soldiers. The rest could only gape, unable to move lest a Thoron spell, or a hand axe thrown in frustration might accidentally injure Robin.

"Let her go, you monster!" Chrom howled, seriously thinking of chopping off the arms and hands that restrained him.

Ignoring the blue haired man, the sage continued to touch her, marvelling at flawlessness of her skin, and wondering how a woman in the middle of a war could maintain such an ethereal complexion. "I'm sure Walhart would enjoy playing with his new toy… Oooh! Speaking of, I'll have to go, little ones. Darling Robin and I have a tea party with the Conqueror himself. See you soon, you hear?"

Cackling, Excellus warped out of sight.

Chrom then proceeded to deface a nearby rock with his Falchion.

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><p>He lost her.<p>

She was right there, beside him, covering his back like he did hers, and they took out those blasted turn-cloaks together.

How could he have not noticed her leave his side? How could he have been so occupied? This was war, and if you do not pay attention to your surroundings, you're better off dead. Had it been a risen behind him instead, he would have been dead now.

Gods, how he wanted to take her place—anything to ensure that she was safe. He would do anything to get her back, and this sitting around and 'strategizing', as Miriel had put it ever so lightly, was not accomplishing much. In fact, looking around him, everyone seemed to be running about with their heads cut off. They were too enraged, too sad, and much too emotional to have a normal discussion with — much less strategize.

There was no argument that everyone was partial to the tactician. Sure, she was stubborn, prone to throwing things, and more often than not sarcastic, but she was also kind and did everything she could to ensure that at the end of the day, all of her friends and comrades survived, even if that meant that she would be the one that bore the most injuries. Her comrades always came before her, in an almost heroic fashion, which irritated Chrom so much more than any other trait of hers. That woman really needed to develop a sense of self-preservation but he'd scold her when she returned, safe and sound.

If she returned alive.

"I cannot take this any longer." Chrom suddenly said among the chaos around him. No one paid him much mind, each too busy indulging their emotions, save for Lissa, who was mending a particularly nasty gash on the prince's shoulder. He stood up, earning an irritated click of the tongue from his sister. He grabbed Falchion, his favoured blade, as well as a spare silver sword from the weapons tent, strapped on his armours and began to leave the camp site.

A hand fell gently upon his shoulders.

"Milord… I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to proceed with what you're planning," Frederick seemed to have noticed the Exalt leaving the campground or perhaps his 'Chrom's off to get killed, what an idiot he is' alarm went off. Either way, it would seem as if the knight has finally resolved his inner conflict and has returned to his normal state of mind. No point in brooding over it.

"Please sit back down and let Milady fix you up more." The knight's voice normally convinced Chrom to take a moment of reflection. Today, however, his anger would not be quelled so easily.

"We're useless here, Frederick, surely you see that? We're doing absolutely nothing, all the while that demon could be committing atrocities—to the Ylissean queen no less! No matter the risk, we need to get back Robin!"

"You're wrong, milord. We can't simply let you walk to your death. You're still needed; by Robin, by all of us here, and by your whole country. You can ill afford to risk your life like this."

"…Dammit! I never should have brought her along! She should have just stayed with Lucina, safe! It's my fault this happened to her, and it's up to me to rescue her!" Chrom was going a mile a minute.

"Frederick, find any Shepherds who are willing to come with me."

"Milord… What would Robin do in this situation?" Frederick beseeched, hoping that in mentioning the tactician's name, his captain and ruler would somehow mirror her calm wisdom in the midst of trouble. He was wrong.

"She wouldn't waste this much time, that's for sure." Chrom angrily replied, unnecessarily yelling at the knight before him. In his mind of minds, he knew that what Frederick was saying was only out of concern for him, but it nonetheless infuriated him. This lack of action was frustrating.

"She would make her time count. We have time, milord. Robin is a high profile hostage, and Walhart won't dare harm her. We have the time now to think this through and properly make him pay."

"What makes you think that monster plays by your rules? She could be in danger right now! You stay here and plan for all I care. I'm going to go rip his head off."

"This war is only one of many troubles our kingdom is facing… If you should fall, Ylisse has no one. You would be putting her in grave danger by leaving on your own."

"Then come with me, Frederick. Please, ensure that her king and her queen are returned." Chrom tried to reason with Frederick, however, the knight was just as known for his unfaltering resolve as he was for his wariness.

"My one duty here is to ensure that your headstrong ideals don't get the better of you. You need to wake up and realize that your life is no longer your own! You can't throw it away in one selfish, careless act, Chrom!"

"Forget your duty here for one second! Your king is talking to you right here and now! Don't make me pull rank on you!"

The camp was rendered silent by a single sound. It was swift, yet it echoed across all the ears of those that were previously too busy with themselves. Everyone's eyes were on the knight and his charge. Frederick had slapped him.

"…My apologies, milord…" He muttered lowly, ashamed almost. Chrom glowered at him. "Phila told me that the quickest way to get a soldier to snap out of his fury was to give him a swift slap across the cheeks."

"Frederick… I can't believe she's gone… What if we can't rescue her?"

"With you as our leader, I know we will. All I ask is that we map out our plan of attack."

"Just make this quick."


End file.
